Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Den
When Emily regained consciousness, the sharp, stinging smell of ammonia and damp concrete filled her lungs.
She blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the heavy fog from her brain. Her wrists were bound tightly behind her with heavy plastic zip-ties, and she was seated upright in a metal folding chair in the center of an abandoned, cavernous brick warehouse lit only by a single flickering overhead bulb.
“Well, well, well. Look who decided to wake up.”
A raspy, arrogant voice echoed from the shadows. Salvatore Moretti stepped into the pool of light. He looked disheveled, his expensive silk suit wrinkled, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes from two days of relentless corporate and criminal destruction at the hands of Dante Valente.
“You must be the little pet groomer who has our good friend Dante acting like a lovesick schoolboy,” Moretti sneered, crouching down in front of her. “Who would have thought? The ruthless Dante Valente brought to his knees by a girl who washes smelly poodles.”
Emily spat a mouthful of metallic-tasting saliva onto the concrete. Her fear was real, but her anger burned hotter. “Dante is going to tear your entire empire to pieces, Moretti. You’re already dead and you don't even know it.”
Moretti’s face twisted into an ugly, furious snarl. He raised his hand and struck her across the cheek with the back of his knuckles. A sharp, searing pain exploded across Emily’s face, and a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her lip.
“You talk big for someone tied to a chair,” Moretti hissed, grabbing a heavy-duty satellite phone from his pocket. He dialed a direct encrypted frequency and hit speakerphone. “Let’s see how tough you are when Dante hears you scream.”
The phone rang twice before a deep, terrifyingly calm voice answered on the other end.
“Moretti.”
“Hello, Dante,” Moretti laughed, pressing the phone close to Emily’s face. “Did you miss someone tonight? I heard you were looking for your favorite little shop owner.”
On the other end of the line, the silence was absolute. But it was the kind of silence that precedes a nuclear detonation.
“Where are you, Salvatore?” Dante’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“Pier 18, old municipal warehouse,” Moretti gloated, pulling a heavy silver revolver from his waistband and pressing the cold barrel directly against Emily’s temple. “Come alone. Leave your guards at the gate. You have twenty minutes, Dante, or the girl gets a permanent headache.”
Click.
Moretti hung up the phone and smiled down at Emily. “Now, we wait for your prince charming.”
Fifteen minutes later, the heavy metal bay doors of the warehouse shrieked as they were blown completely off their tracks with a deafening blast of controlled explosives.
Smoke billowed into the cavernous space. Through the haze walked one man.
Dante Valente.
He wasn't running. He walked with the calm, terrifying certainty of an executioner stepping onto the gallows. He wore his charcoal suit, his coat parting to reveal two fully loaded automatic pistols tucked into his belt. Behind him, the darkness of the night was silent—his men had secured the perimeter instantly, leaving only Dante to settle the score.
Moretti panicked, yanking Emily up by her hair and pressing the gun harder against her temple. “Stop right there, Valente! Drop the weapons or I blow her brains out right now!”
Dante stopped twenty feet away. His grey eyes didn't look at the gun; they looked directly into Moretti’s terrified eyes.
“You made a fatal mistake tonight, Salvatore,” Dante said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
“Drop the guns! I said drop them!” Moretti screamed, his hand shaking violently.
Dante slowly unbuckled his shoulder holster, letting the heavy firearms drop to the concrete with a dull thud. He raised his empty hands, but his expression didn't soften by a fraction of an inch.
“You touched her,” Dante said, taking one slow step forward. “And in my world, that is a capital offense.”
“You think you’re invincible—” Moretti started to shout.
He never finished the sentence.
From the shadows behind the stacked cargo crates, a massive streak of black fur launched itself through the air like a missile.
Brutus.
The Cane Corso, fully healed and fueled by pure canine fury, slammed into Moretti’s side with the force of a speeding truck. The gun flew out of Moretti’s hand, clattering across the concrete floor as Moretti crashed hard into a stack of wooden pallets with a bone-crunching thud.
Brutus stood over him, baring his massive teeth, letting out a growl so deep and terrifying that Moretti passed out from sheer terror before the dog could even bite him.
Dante didn't look at Moretti. He sprinted across the concrete floor, dropping to his knees beside Emily. With two quick, expert flicks of his fingers, he snapped the zip-ties binding her wrists and pulled her gently into his arms.
“Are you alright?” Dante asked, his hands gently framing her face, his thumb softly wiping the blood from her lip. His eyes burned with an intensity that transcended words.
May you like
Emily looked up into his face, feeling the warmth of his embrace against the cold terror of the night. She managed a small, brave smile, resting her head against his chest.
“I am now,” she whispered.
